


Fragile Invulnerability

by goodnyte



Series: Darker Shade of Knight [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 08:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19390405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnyte/pseuds/goodnyte
Summary: It’s dark magic, but it’s good. Strong.(i.e., how a very specific spell for a very specific kind of tank came to be.)





	Fragile Invulnerability

Something dark came to Ishgard that night.

It stalked into the city from the crumbling north gate, abandoned years ago after a Dravanian assault left it in ruins. It led straight down into the alleys of the Brume, so there was no point in fixing it really.

Everything in the Brume broke again, eventually.

Through the streets, it came - dripping red and oozing with shadow, shambling forward at a slow pace, barely appearing to move of its own volition. The few folks meandering the alleyways this late at night pressed against the ramshackle walls, giving the thing its space. People down here were too smart to get close to something like that.

It moved, slow but deliberate, leaving a trail of bright-red blood on the snow-covered stones as it went; its form was hunched over, one arm reaching for a railing as stairs sloped downwards into a row of slum houses. It looked up, eyes bleary, and pushed forward - it felt as though there was a thick red rope growing from its chest, leading it somewhere. If it could just get to where the rope led, maybe everything would stop hurting so much.

And the rope led to a house, to a door. It placed its hand on the thin wood and _pushed_ —

.o.

Fray heard footsteps outside a few spare seconds before he heard something scratch up against the door of their home. He wasn’t armored because he was just about to get in bed - stupid of him, really, when he was here alone.

He reached for his claymore, at the ready in the stand near the door. He held it up, extending his arm to its full length, to put space between himself and whatever was at the door.

“Who’s there?” He demanded, sounding more confident than he had any right to be, considering he was in his night clothes.

Go figure, they’re robbed while Sid’s still traveling back from Tailfeather. He’d be pissed if Fray let this jerk take any of their booze.

In lieu of a response, the person on the other side scratched against the door again and this time the wood groaned as whoever was there pushed against it with no small amount of strength.

“Think again, friend,” Fray said sharply. No one could say he didn't give fair warning. “I want no trouble and you’ve picked the wrong place to rob if that’s your intention.”

But the stranger on the other side pushed again, and this time - the door budged. Fray blinked but recovered quickly, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. The stranger was stronger than the earlier scratching would have suggested.

“Last chance,” he said, voice bordering on a shout this time. He reached for the door handle and braced his shoulder against the wood. He’d open the damn thing himself, hopefully surprising their would-be robber enough to stab at them before they got the chance to do the same.

But he felt it - then, with his back pressed the door, the thin wood the only thing separating him from the creature outside. He looked down and saw shadows clawing under the door frame, wisping inwards, forming wreaths at his feet.

He let the sword drop to his side, furrowing his brow. “Sid,” he breathed, twisting the knob and letting the door open inwards.

Only for it to explode as soon as the pressure from the latch gave, the force of Sidurgu barging inside tearing the door from its uppermost hinge.

“Shite!” Fray raised the claymore in his hand and made to follow Sid as he tore through their place, the dim lamp light from outside glancing off his form just enough that Fray could see the outline of his frantic movements. But the green glow of his eyes — usually so bright in the dark of their home — was missing.

“Sid, tell me what’s wrong,” Fray shouted, sword raised as his hand fumbled behind him, searching for a lantern or something - any source of light. His hand found something lantern-shaped and he turned briefly to flick the flint and light the oil. But he stopped when he heard the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, the sound of broken chain mail rustling, the distinctive click of a sword being unsheathed.

“Sid—“ he started to say, but he barely had the words out before there was a flurry of steel headed his way. He barely managed to bring his own sword up in time to buffet the blows away from his unarmored body, every impact of blade upon blade reverberating unpleasantly up his naked sword arm.

He lifted the sword with both hands, breathing heavily as he steeled himself for a second attack. Sidurgu was not a cautious fighter, even when he wasn’t driven rabid by some unknown spell or curse. No element of surprise this round, arsehole. This time, he defended against the blow and lifted his own claymore up, jerking sharply and dislodging the blade from its wielder’s weak grip.

Fray narrowed his eyes as the blade clattered to the ground; Sid wasn’t weak. Sid was hurt.

Sidurgu growled something unintelligible and before Fray could even begin to understand his grumbling, the au ra launched himself from the darkness beyond his periphery. He felt something sharp run through the skin over his ribs, and then something wet and sticky slicking his nightclothes.

“Fuck—“ he grunted, bringing the sword up and bashing Sid’s middle with the flat of the blade. “—me,” he finished, head swimming with pain as Sid’s claws were torn off of him, taking flesh as they went.

Sidurgu didn’t take well to that in his crazed state, growling and lashing out - claws extended, the intention to tear at anything he could catch purchase on.

“Stop,” Fray commanded, feeling a calm come over him. Pain did that, cooled him off and made time slow just enough that he could think through what needed to be done.

He stepped into Sid’s range of reach and winced as claws found his ruined side again. Fray hissed in pain but it only iced him over further, making it easy for him to grab hold of both of Sid’s wrists with one hand and twist his arms downward towards his lower center of gravity. He used the element of surprise to crowd Sid into one corner of the room, careful to not let either of them trip over furniture as he backed him against the wall.

A feral sound rippled from Sid’s throat as he twisted in Fray’s grip wildly, uselessly. “Let me go!” He howled, the words guttural and wracked. Fray cursed as his grip nearly slipped, made slack by the amount of blood slicking the chain mail; Sid stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance as he tried to wrench himself free. He recovered just enough to launch forward at Fray once again, attempting to knock the smaller man over with his weight.

“I said, stop,” Fray said again, his voice steel. He braced himself.

Sid might have had the advantage of size, but Fray was faster - and smarter, if they were both honest with each other. Especially when Sid had been driven somehow rabid while missing for days in the Coerthan wilderness.

Fray dropped his weight to his back foot, feinting backwards rather than matching Sid onze for onze in a contest of strength. Instead, he let Sid overshoot and stumble forward, using the au ra’s momentum against him to reach up and grab hold of him from behind.

“Enough,” Fray said, punctuating the word by slamming Sid’s head against the wall and holding him there by the scruff of his neck.

Sid whined into the wall, his frame wracked by a full-body spasm. He was breathing heavily and now that Fray had him still, he could see the blood dripping off him in thick globs. His eyes glanced at the blood that trailed under his feet, and probably all through the rest of their place.

He needed to figure out Sid’s injuries, but he wouldn’t be able to if he kept fighting him like a rabid coeurl. The physical wounds would have to wait.

Fray slowed his breathing to match Sid’s heavy pants, tightening his grip on the au ra’s neck as he crowded him further, pinning Sid to the wall with the force of his presence. “Let me help,” he entreated, but didn’t give Sid much of a choice in the matter as he let his own aether unspool and reach outward.

Thin threads of shadow probed against the tangled mess of formless smoke radiating off of Sid, the magic more felt than seen. Fray had felt it through the door, could smell it clinging to everything they owned, could feel it mingle and mix with his own magic, practiced and familiar.

Sid grunted, the sound almost a sob. Fray hushed him, experimentally loosening the grip on his neck. Sid didn’t move; the freedom of movement only had him slipping against the wall as he was suddenly responsible for his own weight again. Fray reached to grab hold of him, to hold him up.

“Listen to my voice,” Fray said, his tone low as he pressed his blackened aether against Sid’s own, enmeshing their magic until it was impossible to tell whose was whose.

It was a communion, of a sort, but less pleasant than the times when their joining was voluntary for both participants. Fray closed his eyes and focused, feeling himself drawn towards Sid’s center like a meteor drawn to the earth by gravity. He leaned into it, gently pressing through the weak barriers Sid tried to erect; he was trying to defend himself. Given how weak he was, Fray couldn’t blame him for being afraid.

_Show me what happened_ , he willed through his aether, _so I can start to fix it_.

Magic could cause ills just as easily as it healed hurts and the magic used by knights like them fed on those scars. Left unchecked, magic like that could easily make their myriad wounds fester. What made them strong could very easily lay them low. Like a poison, the toxin had to be understood before a cure could be found.

Sid couldn’t have stopped him, though he tried; he tensed up in reality as his final emotional barrier was dismissed by Fray’s singular intent to help.

There—Fray could just barely see the fragments of memories, floating through Sid’s twisted aether like unsent ghosts. This was enough, this would give him what he needed to right the wrong.

.o.

Early spring has done little to make the trail from Tailfeather any easier to traverse. And, he’s never had much luck with chocobos. The overgrown hens also probably thought he was part dragon, or something stupid like that.

It was faster for him to walk, especially when he was alone.

And there’s a swell of gratitude that he did just that when he comes up on a wagon, stopped dead on the trail. Damn birds were squawking up a storm, and he could see why as he approached.

Two merchants, one in the cart and the other standing by the distressed chocobos.

Twice as many knights; one with a blade pulled on the poor sod with the birds, two tearing into the rear of the cart. The fourth standing a few yalms apart with a bow drawn.

An “inspection” - malms away from any city gate or settlement.

Now, a swell of fury. And - damnably - of excitement.

( _Distantly, Fray understands. It pisses him off anyway, knowing how this ends._ )

He approaches, and it goes about as well as it could. Within seconds, every knight has a weapon drawn.

The two in the cart are caught flat-footed and are dispatched with ease. They get in a few good blows as they flail their last moments away, but nothing a tourniquet can’t fix. The one with the merchant declines to do the smart thing, which he’s grateful for. A hostage would make this much more difficult.

No - instead, he rushes from the other side of the cart and catches him as he’s rounding to the front. He stops dead in his tracks and glances down to see a vicious lance running him through the middle.

That might require more than bandages.

He grabs the lance and _pulls_ , surprising the knight and knocking him off his feet with the flat of his own weapon. He tries to ignore the twisting burn blossoming in his middle as he tears the weapon out and spins it around. It finds its final resting place in its former master’s throat.

“Get on your damn bird and run,” he grunts at the merchant. The man is smart and does just that.

The knight standing two dozen paces away watches, bewildered, as their quarry slips through his grip. He’s upon the fool in seconds. The knight loses any head start he could have had by standing still long enough to loose an arrow, hitting him square in the shoulder.

He doesn’t care about something as silly as that. Not after having a lance hanging from his gut like an overgrown splinter. He cleaves the idiot in two with the uninjured arm. A clumsy cut, but that’s what he gets for robbing him of a shoulder.

The cart is barely a dot on the snowy horizon as he bends to wipe his sword off in the snow. The blood comes off clean, but he’s distracted by the blood pooling under him, not from the sword.

_The edges of the memory begin to dim…_

He’s suddenly tired and he’s already on the ground. It’s a simple thing to just— 

He wakes up, acutely aware of the snow pressing into his skin. His armor is broken, and he’s wet, all over. The snow’s soaked his clothes— no, not snow.

Blood.

The blood, still, from before.

He sits up - or tries. There’s a pain in his gut that stops him, a fire in his middle that makes it impossible to breathe.

Was this what dying felt like? It felt like dying.

He’d promised himself, though, and he leaned again on his magic like a crutch. He could do this - he could keep his promise. The singular task of getting home, getting back to the man who was waiting for him.

He _had_ to keep his promise.

His magic responded, and he felt a surge of strength. Strength enough to stand up, to walk.

His feet started him towards home.

.o.

The memories fell away like mist in the early-morning sun, and Fray could see the hole Sid had cratered into his magical center to survive all that. Shadows spilled from it, unchecked, the magic wild and untethered.

To chain it, then, was his task.

His own aether coiled like thick oil, distinct enough from Sid’s magic now that he was this close to the core. He moved surgically, helping the aether reform, rather than forcing it into any shape it didn’t want to form on its own.

Conviction, twisted into obsession.

Protection, perverted into self-preservation.

And, affection - a gaping hole, the pillar Sid had torn out from the root as his animating focus. It was affection for home, for the Brume — for Fray — that had made it possible for him to literally put one foot in front of the other when his physical heart no longer had the strength to pump blood to his limbs.

How easy it was, to fill that hole with the ewer of his own magic. There were no barriers here - no masks to obscure what he felt. No shields for Sid to hide behind, to mask what he wanted.

The shadows started to thin, the wild flailing of the tendrils calming to gentle caresses. They curled inward, trying to pull Fray closer but he kept his presence still. No good would come from truly communing with Sid in such a state.

_Tell me when you’re ready_. His thoughts echoed in the space between them, hanging there. It took a few long moments, but finally - a response:

_I’m here_. The thought reverberated through the shadows - its presence weak, but undoubtedly there. And it was enough.

He pulled up and out of the dark mist between them, pulling his aether back to his own body and locking it there. He took a deep breath, as if trying to breathe his own magic back in.

He came around, his physical senses returning slowly. He opened his eyes and the first thing he noticed was the dull glow of Sid’s eyes in the dark, his head turned downwards so he could just barely see the au ra’s face.

“I’m here,” Sid said again, his voice weak with pain. His body sagged as Fray loosened his grip, letting him up from the wall. “I’m—“

He was cut off by a fit of wet coughing. Fray moved quickly to help guide him to the floor, his eyes taking in his myriad injuries - though, he had seen enough in Sid’s memories to know what needed to be healed, and quickly.

“No talking,” Fray hushed, standing up to get what he’d need to make Sid right. “I know that’s hard for you but you’ll strain yourself yapping.”

“Arse,” Sid bit out, voice rough, trying to lift his head enough to watch Fray move about their place. “Where—“

Fray inwardly winced at the panic in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, quickly grabbing the lantern they’d knocked over earlier. He flicked the lighter, and was bathed in a warm light as the flame inside flickered to life. He quickly made his way to their front door, grabbing his cane from the weapon stand and a wad of bandages from the rack beside it.

He knelt back down beside his injured friend, kicking a piece of furniture aside so he could spread out. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said again, already too focused on the task at hand to continue speaking much. He reached to press a hand to the worst of the wounds - the hole in Sid’s gut, torn through with the serrated tip of a lance.

The chain mail fell away easily, broken links parting with a few sharp tugs. It’d all have to be removed but the bleeding had to be stopped, immediately— a hand brushed against his, stopping his mental triage in his tracks. He blinked and looked to see Sid looking at him with clouded eyes.

“Promise?” He asked, and it took Fray a moment to realize what he was asking; he’d already forgotten his words from mere moments ago.

Sid watched him expectantly for a spare moment before his expression twisted again, a shuddering rattle emanating from his core.

Fray lifted his hand and placed it atop Sid’s, pressing down to apply pressure to the wound in his middle. “I promise,” he said, resisting the urge to tease. The panic in Sid’s voice was real and he had to be unabashedly honest about this, at least. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sid searched his face for a moment before letting himself relax against the floor. His eyes slipped closed.

Implicit trust. Fray distantly wondered if Sid still hadn’t come back - not entirely. Maybe he thought this was a pleasant, death-addled dream. That would be easier… being stitched back together, even with magic, wasn’t pleasant.

He gritted his teeth, his own wounds a far-away thought as he got to work with cane and bandage in hand.

It was going to be a long night.

.o.

Something bright came to Ishgard that morning.

For once, the perpetual clouds that grayed out the sky overhead seemed to grant the city a boon. The sun peeked through the parted mists, casting the blues and whites of the Holy See’s architecture in a less-cold light. Light poured through stained-glass windows and snuck through slats in windows and through a door, still somewhat ajar in its frame.

Fray hated the sun on a good day, but he took its untimely appearance on that day of all days as a personal insult.

It had been a few hours after he’d finished doing what he could for Sid’s injuries, and fewer hours since he’d finished patching up his own wounded side. Sid’s claws didn’t do nearly as much damage as a sword could, but they were close to what a dagger might accomplish.

And he’d ruined Fray’s favorite night shirt.

Well, his only night shirt.

So Sid would just have to be okay with him sharing his recovery bed, shirtless as he was. Besides, it was also his fault the door was still broken. Even in early spring, Ishgard was colder than Shiva’s tits and Sid was - thankfully - a warm body to ward against the chilly draft.

His side was sore now that the adrenaline had worn off, and resting beside Sid for even just a few hours was enough to start melting at the walls of ice he erected to survive the bullshite that was their lives. Without them, it was harder to ignore pain. But life wasn’t all that bad, he thought, with his head pillowed on his arm, a few ilms away from a very-alive and very-warm au ra body.

This could have easily been a very-cold and very-dead Sid, with the difference of even just a few spare minutes. It had been the closest call either of them had in a long while.

They should talk about it. He should make Sid promise to be more careful.

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t ask that of him.

Because Fray knew he wouldn’t have done anything differently.

Instead, he watched silently as Sid breathed, tracing the outlines of his bandaged body as his chest rose and fell, rose and fell… He didn’t mind his own hurts, because they were a reminder that he was alive, and Sid breathing meant that was Sid was alive.

And life wasn’t all that bad. It never could be, so long as they had each other.

_The only reason I’m thinking like this is because I’m tired_ , he told himself, reluctantly letting his eyes close.

.o.

— Something shifted beside him, jostling him awake. He reflexively reached under the bed, where he remembered stashing his sword, but he could just barely see Sid stirring in the dark beside him.

In the dark… how long had he slept for?

Sid hissed in pain as he tried to shift his position, the idiot. Fray shook his head, as though he could banish sleep itself from his mind, and reached to still the au ra with a hand to his chest. “Stopmovin’” he mumbled, his words slurred as he tried to rouse himself enough to get Sid to relax.

“Fray?” His name sounded rough in Sid’s throat, and there was a weight to it that he didn’t know what to do with it after just waking up.

“Yes, who else?” Sid shifted again at the sound of his voice and he pressed his hand firmly into the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. “What did I just say about moving?”

“You said to stop but—“

“No buts,” Fray said, his voice stern and not in the teasing sort of way. “If you reopen these wounds I swear to Halone I’ll let you bleed out in bed beside me.”

“Swearing to Halone doesn’t mean much,” Sid said, voice still rough and breathing starting to labor the longer he talked. “Not from you anyway.”

“Feeling well enough to be an arse but not well enough to help fix the door,” Fray said with a snort. “Figures.”

They were quiet, then, for a few long moments.

Then — “Can you…?”

“Yeah.” His own voice was rough with something he didn’t have the energy to examine at the moment. Fray shifted over on the bed until he was pressed up against Sid’s side. Just enough that their skin brushed and their warmth was a mutually shared thing between them.

They were close enough that Fray could hear Sid’s heart beating in his chest, could feel the rise and fall of his each breath with his eyes closed.

Fray pushed himself up with his forearm, careful not to stretch his own side past its limits. He had no intention of bleeding out on the bed either. “Sid,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m going to—“

He didn’t finish the sentence, letting the kiss he placed on Sid’s lips do the talking for him. He felt the au ra tense under him, a pained sound eking from his mouth. Just enough for Fray to press deeper into the kiss — the copper taste of only recently-removed blood in Sid’s mouth wasn’t pleasant, but he hardly noticed.

Fray broke the kiss off, leaning back to give Sid time to recover. He watched the au ra intently for a few long seconds, and just when Sid was starting to look uncomfortable under his scrutiny, he said: “How did you make it back here alive?”

Sid’s wide-eyed stare softened some, though he was still visibly uncomfortable beneath Fray’s glare. “I walked?”

“You know what I mean,” Fray said flatly. “You should have been dead. I saw what you did - I knitted your aether back together myself because you’d torn through your learned magicks to fuel your life longer than you physically should have been able to.”

Sid blinked. “Seems you answered your own question,” he huffed.

Fray narrowed his gaze, thinking for a moment. “Ugh,” he grunted, flopping back onto his good side and pressing his face against Sid’s shoulder. “I’d tell you not to do it again,” he said. But, he lowered his voice and wrapped his arms gently around Sid’s bandaged middle. “But, I’m glad you managed to do… whatever it was.”

Sid shifted beside him, physically winced and settled his weight back where it was on the bed. “I know you saw it,” he said, his tone cautiously clipped. “Whatever ‘it’ was… it had a lot to do with you,” he murmured, his voice so soft Fray was sure he’d just thought it at him, like he had when they’d sort-of-communed.

“Yeah, it did,” Fray confirmed. “Makes sense, with everything else we know about how our magic works. Wish we could ask old man Ompagne about it.”

Sid went quiet. Mentioning their master had a way of doing that to him - shutting him up, for at least a few minutes. Fray wanted him to catch his breath.

It backfired on him spectacularly because giving Sid time to breathe also gave him time to think.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” he said, his voice firm with a full breath to grant it weight. “Since Master passed, it’s been just us and… I didn’t want to leave you alone. I wanted to get back to you, so badly…”

Fray went still, and was glad he wasn’t looking right at Sid anymore. He didn’t know what his face was doing exactly, but he keenly wished for his barbut in that moment.

He shifted and used the sound of his movement to mask the clearing of his throat. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said, sounding more sure than he felt. “We’ll clean the spell up and find some way to use it without tearing at our aether like you did. It might not last as long as yours did but it’ll be something to buy us some time, maybe.” He rubbed at his eyes, his head starting to hurt. “It’s dark magic, Sid, but it’s good. Strong.”

He was exhausted - still, from their long night and his long nap and from talking this much. “It should be easy for me to replicate,” he admitted.

Sid snorted, fooled by what sounded like a brag. “Sure, sure,” he mumbled, a yawn punctuating his nod. “But, can you…?” There was a smarmy smile in his words.

“Ugh.” Fray pushed himself up, rolling his eyes as he leaned over the au ra one more time. “Needy,” he muttered.

But, he couldn’t help smiling in return as he leaned in to kiss Sid again.

He settled himself against Sid’s side and watched his breaths slow into sleep. He metered the time of his heartbeat; closed his eyes and just listened to the sounds of Sid being alive beside him.

And despite what it cost, he thought selfishly, he was inconsolably glad that he wasn’t alone.


End file.
